A thousand touches
by Alja
Summary: Roy would never get enough of her. He wanted to hold her, touch her, tease her, caress her. Posted for Royaiweek's prompt "Skin"


**Summary:** Roy would never get enough of her. He wanted to hold her, touch her, tease her, caress her. Posted for Royai week's prompt "Skin"

 **Disclaimer:** All characters belong to Hiromu Arakawa.

 **Please enjoy!**

* * *

When Roy Mustang turned around in his bed, his first thought was that he was having _that_ _dream_ again.

Though, usually those dreams would end in this position, not start in it. That's why he came to his second conclusion: He has been drunk enough to bring a blonde home. This usually only happened when he was really desperate.

He suppressed a groan and slapped his hand on his face. Through his fingers, he dared to take another peek.

Yup, still blond. She lay on her side, her hair fanned out over her shoulders and her entire body was wrapped into the spare blanket, rising, falling and curving at the right places.  
In fact, he couldn't remember ever having a woman with that kind of luscious curves in his bed.

Well, at least she was hot.

And she seemed to be literally so - suddenly, she started to kick off her covers, letting them slip down to around her hips until she seemed to be content with the temperature again. Roy on the other hand needed an ice bath to cool down the heat that shot into his head after recognizing the woman.

For there was only one woman on this planet that wore the secrets of Flame Alchemy stitched into her back, disfigured by three patches of scar tissues he knew all too well.

He quickly pinched his arm (maybe it was a dream after all?!), but the sharp pain made it clear that it was in fact Riza Hawkeye who lay in his bed. Naked.

It wasn't that he hadn't seen her naked before. After all, it was her who had chosen to show him her Father's research and with their combined grief and loneliness but also mutual trust and attraction, it was only a matter of time until the young adults would succumb to each other.  
It has been far from perfect, and in the aftermath of Berthold Hawkeye's death, it had felt so very _wrong_ to take his teacher's daughter's virginity (not, that she hadn't taken his at the same time, too).

The few times in Ishval hadn't felt right, either. They simply had been attempts to preserve their humanity - they hadn't had the luxury of love or hope.

Roy stared at her back and couldn't refrain from touching her again. He rolled on his side and drove his hand over the perfect curve of her hip, turning down to the small of her back as the memories of last night poured into his brain again.

They hadn't planned this at all.

It was their usual Friday night since after the war. She would come over, they would cook, talk, laugh. She would go home late. He would always make a point that it was too dangerous for a woman to go home at night and she would wave her pistol to dismiss his argument.  
Those weekly meetings kept the nightmares away.

His fingertips traced parts of her tattoo.

But yesterday hadn't ended in the usual way. The heating in his house surprisingly broke down, but since the food was already cooking on the stove, they had stayed in the cold domicile, a blanket wrapped around them to keep them warm.

Now he knew that he had been _too close_ to her.

He dragged his fingers lazily over her spine, straying from the path every time he came across a scar to circle around it and massage the patches of hard skin softly.

After their hands had bumped into each other countless times, he had simply grasped her hand tightly. She didn't pull away. Instead, she moved _closer_ and rested her head against his shoulder as the radio tuned into a soft melody. After some time, their eyes met and it was all it took to have their lips meet, too.

He didn't remember their journey to his bedroom, he was too intoxicated by her kiss, her perfume, her hands opening the buttons of his shirt.

He pressed a kiss onto the biggest patch of scar tissue.

But he knew that this was something different. This wasn't two teens desperately trying to keep a hold on each other. This wasn't two broken adults using each other to cling to their humanity.  
This was _more_.

They had taken their sweet time to explore, to tickle, to tease, to appreciate. It wasn't about themselves - it was all about the other person. He relished in the memory of how she had squirmed when his long fingers had tickled her waist, how a soft sigh had escaped her lips when he had sucked on her neck and how dark and rich her eyes had turned when they had finally become one.

He felt a stir. He drew back slightly and left her enough room to roll from her side onto her back, her breasts swaying enticingly as she did so. He made a point in keeping his eyes focused on them for a few seconds before finally meeting the uncertain glance of his subordinate, cheeks flushed slightly as she realized what Roy stared at. She made a move to grasp the blanket, but stopped midway. After all, it was nothing he hadn't seen before.

"Good morning," she offered, still a little hesitant, but the smile on her superior's face was contagious.

He didn't answer her, instead, he laid the flat of his hand onto her belly, right at the start of the patch of blond curls that were mostly hidden by her blanket. He dragged his hand up slowly, softly, enjoying the smooth flatness. He continued his journey, up to her ribcage, between the valley of her breasts, and a smirk formed on his lips when he felt her suck in a breath. He let the tip of his middle finger ghost over the bulge of her left breast (the bigger one, he had released last night), teasing the edge of her areola in a circular motion until he finally brushed the hardened nipple. He felt her shudder and his grin widened.

He laid his hand on her sternum now and caressed his way over her neck up to her cheek, where his hand came to rest finally. His thumb brushed across the soft skin that was flushed so prettily.

"Good morning," he answered her at last and brushed a kiss onto her forehead.

"What are you doing?"

His gaze softened.

"I'm appreciating you. You are beautiful," he answered, but the blonde only snorted in reply.  
"You probably say that to every naked woman in your bed."

He gently climbed on top of her and propped his arms up on each side of her body. His weight balanced like that, he stared into her eyes relentlessly. He wanted her to see, to _understand_ , that she was no one night stand for him. In a way, she never was.

"How many women do you think I'm taking home on a regular basis? I say it because it's _you_ that's lying in my bed. You being naked is merely a nice addition."

He saw the uncertainty and doubt slowly melt from the caramel depths in front of him. The corners or her eyes lit up and another smile graced her beautiful features before she caught his lips in a passionate kiss. Her arms and legs wrapped tightly around him, and he took the invitation all too willingly to rock them into another moment of pure bliss.


End file.
